


home

by coshie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Moving In Together, Nightmares, Wings, i mean it's minimal angst, i mean when isn't he but y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coshie/pseuds/coshie
Summary: One by one, Crowley's things are ending up at Aziraphale's.Crowley doesn't realize he's doing it; Aziraphale does.Living together means adjusting to each other's patterns and routines.





	home

**Author's Note:**

> _if home is where the heart is_  
>  _then i feel pretty stupid_  
>  _my heart lies in your bones_  
>  \- "painting roses", dresses
> 
> \---  
> For some reason, I was convinced to record myself reading this so uh  
> Hey! Now there's an audio version!  
>  _[ full disclaimer, I have no proper equipment, and I am little more than a novice at audio editing. ]_  
> [Listen on SoundCloud](https://soundcloud.com/coshie_reads/home)

It started with a jacket.

Aziraphale had found it just a few minutes after Crowley had left to return to his apartment one evening; it had been tossed apparently carelessly over the back of his desk chair. Crowley had never forgotten any of his belongings before. Aziraphale wondered if it had been left intentionally, then further wondered why Crowley would have done that. He hung it up on the coat rack for Crowley to retrieve in the morning. It never left, except for the occasional excursion.

Then it was an extra pair of sunglasses. Crowley had broken his one afternoon while trying to reach something from a top shelf in the shop. The glasses had slipped off his nose and clattered to the ground; when he climbed down from the step-stool to pick them up, they instead ended up under his shoe. Grumbling and cursing, he stomped out to the Bentley to grab two pairs from his stash. He shoved one on his face, and thrust the other under Aziraphale’s nose as the angel sat at his desk. “Keep ‘em here somewhere,” Crowley demanded, stomping back over to the step-stool. “Just in case.” Aziraphale arranged them in the corner of his desk, where they stayed.

Then a plant. “You need some green around here, angel.” Then another, and another. “Don’t be too nice to them, or else they’ll get lazy.” Then a painting. “Nah, looks better on your wall, anyway.” Then a small statuette. Another painting. A pair of boots. Another jacket.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale began one evening, as they sat with glasses of wine in the small living space above the bookshop. Crowley was sprawled over the loveseat, one leg hanging over the back. Aziraphale was seated comfortably in his armchair. They had been talking about the American Revolution until the topic hit a lull. “I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale continued slowly, swirling the wine in his glass and watching that instead of the insouciant demon. “You spend so much of your time here.”

Crowley glanced over at him. “Yeah?” he prompted when Aziraphale hesitated.

“Well,” the angel said primly, straightening his shoulders a little. “With Armageddon averted, and our respective Head Offices leaving us more-or-less alone, and - of course - our new, ehm, relationship[1],” his ears went slightly pink, but he soldiered on, “I thought that maybe, if you’d like, you could… you could move in.” He raised his glass to his lips, sending a furtive glance towards the loveseat.

“Move in?” Crowley repeated, unhooking his leg from the back of the couch and sitting up. “Here?” He looked around the comfortable living area. “With… with you?” He turned his yellow-gold eyes to Aziraphale. Both of them were painted with hesitation of a different kind. _Does he want to? Does he want me to?_ Nevermind the daily kisses and “I love you”s and gestures and, on occasion, sex; this was an entirely different kind of step to take.

“You already have some of your things here,” Aziraphale explained, setting his empty glass down on the table between them. “And you have been spending more time here than in your own apartment. I just thought, for simplicity’s sake, you see.”[2]

Crowley’s eyes hadn’t left the angel. “Move in with you,” he repeated, sounding a little stunned.[3] “You’d… you’d actually want that? Me? Here? All the time?”

Aziraphale bobbed his head a few times, and a nervous little smile came over his features. “Would you?” he asked in turn. “Want to be here, that is. With me. All the time.”

Crowley’s wine glass rattled as it landed on the table. All at once, he was scrambling off of the loveseat and over to Aziraphale, climbing into his lap and kissing him firmly. “Oh, angel, I’d love nothing more,” he murmured, holding Aziraphale’s face in both hands, as the angel’s arms wrapped around him. He went back for another kiss; their smiles got in the way.

The next day, they piled into the Bentley and returned to Crowley’s apartment, where they gathered up the rest of his plants, a few more decor items, and a handful of other things; they packed the car, and returned to the bookshop.[4] The rest of the day passed in a haze of lighthearted busywork as they rearranged Aziraphale’s living space to accommodate for them both. There was a minor disagreement over the bedroom - “ _bed_ room, angel, we’re putting a bed in here”; “but my dear, you sleep on the couch anyway”; “we’ll move the bookshelves to the living room”; “there’s so many, they’ll never fit” - that was only settled with a few small miracles to get all of Aziraphale’s books to fit in just the two shelves in the living room.[5] They bantered teasingly as they figured out where to hang up paintings, where to display figurines and statuettes.

Crowley obstinately refused to allow Aziraphale to help him arrange his plants around the kitchen windows, so the angel stood in the doorway and watched as the demon, muttering to himself the whole time, carefully placed each pot and planter on the window sills and shelves. By the time he finished, the kitchen had begun to resemble a garden nook more than a kitchen. Aziraphale was unsurprised to find that he rather liked it.

By the time the sun had set, the small apartment, already full of one lifetime’s worth of things, was comfortably crammed with the collected treasures of two.

Aziraphale sat on the couch with Crowley’s head in his lap, combing through his hair. They had settled here about twenty minutes ago, after having hung the last of the paintings. “Well,” Aziraphale said with an air of finality, breaking the contented silence between them. “I suppose I could say ‘welcome home’, my dear.”

Crowley laughed a little, turning on his side to nuzzle the angel’s stomach and wrapping his arms around his waist to hug him. “Keeping my stuff here is just a formality, angel,” he said, looking up to meet the fond gaze falling down upon him. “Home’s never been a place for me. It’s always been you.”

* * *

* * *

Their first proper day cohabiting was not unlike every other day before, except for waking up. Crowley awoke to quiet humming and gentle fingers in his hair. Aziraphale was reading, Crowley's head on his chest, four legs tangled together. When the angel realized Crowley was awake, he smiled down at him and kissed his temple. "Good morning, my love," he murmured.

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's night shirt to hide just how terrible pleased he was. Aziraphale saw it anyway.

Throughout the morning, Crowley hovered. He let Aziraphale go about his routine - tea, breakfast, reading - while he watched. Learned. Aziraphale didn't comment on it, but might have known what was going on. Around half-past-nine, they went down to open the bookshop, and everything went back to the Normal that they had defined for themselves in the past few months. Crowley spent a few hours as a snake, sunbathing and dozing on a shelf, and only scaring two customers. He stepped out in the early afternoon, returning with Thai takeout for lunch. Aziraphale closed the shop at six, and they went to dinner at a nice little Italian place on the water. They drank entirely too much wine, returned home just after eight, and collapsed onto the couch laughing over a rather stupid joke Crowley had made. By midnight, they were in bed.

It was much the same the next day, and the day after. By day four, Crowley had learned the patterns well enough. He slipped out of the bedroom while Aziraphale got dressed, and had tea and croissants waiting for him when he entered the kitchen. Aziraphale thanked him with a kiss that was perhaps a little more effusive than strictly necessary.

All in all, Crowley was the one to adapt. His own routines - primarily gardening and sleeping - slotted in nicely around Aziraphale's; the angel barely had to change anything about his lifestyle to accommodate his partner.

It would take two weeks before Aziraphale had a chance to show Crowley that he was willing to adjust as well.

It happened at night.

Crowley was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, one arm over Aziraphale's chest, the other wrapped underneath a pillow where his head rested, and a bit of drool was soaking into it from his parted lips. Aziraphale was engrossed in his book when Crowley whimpered.

He glanced over at him. Crowley's brows had furrowed, and his lips were moving as if he was trying to say something, but no words came out. He was still very much asleep, but Aziraphale could see tension forming all over his body.

Then, with a rustling and a sudden _whoosh_ , Crowley's wings sprang from his shoulder blades. Aziraphale tumbled from the bed with a surprised cry.

He quickly righted himself, preparing to climb back in bed and awake the demon, but something stopped him. Crowley stopped him. Because Crowley was staring right at him.

Well. Not exactly. His eyes were open, and he was sitting up, and his head was turned towards Aziraphale, but the angel quickly realized that Crowley was still asleep; his eyes were staring straight past him. “Crow---” Aziraphale began.

But then he noticed that something was changing. Crowley’s skin was starting to pull apart, revealing jet black scales. The gold in his eyes was overtaking his scleras. His wings were stretching out to their fullest extent behind him. And something more subtle, like a small flame at his core coming alive, spreading, _consuming_ , growing. His human form was fading; dozens of eyes long-closed were opening, another set of wings joined the first, the indistinct fire was turning into a blaze, making him _glow_.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale finally managed through his shock. He scrambled to his feet and got back on the bed. “Crowley, it’s me---”

“ _Get back._ ” The voice was not his, either, but something bigger, deeper, _more_. Wings flared as though in warning, feathers ruffling furiously. A wave of ethereal flame shot from him, missing Aziraphale by millimeters.

“Crowley, my dear, you’re dreaming,” he called. “It’s me, it’s Aziraphale!”

There was a tremor through the air around them, and then the same changes happened again, but rapidly and in reverse. All four wings shrunk out of view. Extra eyes closed. Gold retreated to reveal white. Freckled skin came back together over scales. “Aziraphale.” And the voice was familiar once again. Crowley blinked once, twice, saw the angel’s frightened expression, and turned away, covering his face with one hand while groping blindly with his other towards Aziraphale; Aziraphale took his hand and held it tightly in both of his. “Sorry,” Crowley said, voice muffled. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I--- nightmare, it was a nightmare, I just, sometimes it happens, and I can’t---” He took another shaky breath, and though Aziraphale couldn’t see his face, he did see the slumping of shoulders, the droop of his head, and a renewed tension in his entire being.

Aziraphale moved closer, reaching up to place a hand on the back of Crowley’s neck. Crowley jumped, startled, and turned to look at the angel, lowering his hand so just his eyes were visible. They were heavy with tears yet to fall, and _worried_. Worried that he had scared the angel, worried that something had broken, worried that he had crossed some kind of line.

But Aziraphale’s expression had smoothed into something kinder, and his hand was warm against Crowley’s sweat-cooled skin. His other hand squeezed Crowley’s gently, and he leaned closer. "It's okay," Aziraphale assured him in a tone of voice that would have soothed the Big Bang, "it's all right.”

“But I--- I could--- angel, I could hurt you, what if---” Crowley tried, his hand falling away from his face. “If-if I don’t wake up, if you can’t wake me--- oh, what if---” The thought terrified him more than anything else. Let Heaven and Hell come for them, let the Angels and Demons track them down to make them pay with their lives, and Crowley would stand between them and Aziraphale until he couldn’t anymore, and would keep going anyway. But the thought that he might, that he had the capacity, that he _could_ \- even without meaning to - cause Aziraphale, his angel, his _world_ , harm or even injury was enough to stifle his words as though his throat had clamped shut. A great shuddering breath, a sob, and tears spilled over, running down his cheeks.

“Shh,” Aziraphale whispered. His palm was flat against the back of Crowley’s neck now, and he brought him closer until their foreheads met in the space between. “Crowley, my love, it’s all right. I’m here. And I always will be.”

“Promise?” Crowley managed through the storm of anxiety blustering in his mind. “Angel, please, promise me, promise me I’ll never lose you. I can’t, I can’t lose you. Please.”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said without hesitation. “Crowley, I promise. I will be here, at your side, until the end of Time. And beyond. If you’ll have me.”

Crowley surged forward, wrapping himself around Aziraphale, and they fell back against the pillows. Crowley took a few steadying breaths in Aziraphale’s neck, and the combination of the angel’s familiar warmth and scent was enough to finally make him believe that he was _safe_. “Of course I’ll have you,” he murmured. “Dunno what else I could ever want, long as I have you.”

Aziraphale ran his hand up and down Crowley’s back as the demon calmed down, as his breathing began to fall back into normal patterns, as his heart stopped trying to beat a hole through his chest. “I love you,” he said. A statement. A reminder. A promise.

“Love you, too,” Crowley answered with a soft kiss against Aziraphale’s jaw. “More than anything.”

Aziraphale hummed contentedly and closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to just enjoy this: having Crowley on top of him, needing him, but most importantly being able to relieve some of the pain that was always so close under the surface. He continued rubbing Crowley’s back for what might have been an hour. He expected the demon to fall back asleep, but he didn’t. He stayed awake, drawing little patterns with his finger on Aziraphale’s shoulder and planting the occasional kiss on whatever skin was closest.

“Would you like to get some more sleep?” Aziraphale asked eventually.

“Mmn,” Crowley hummed noncommittally.

“How about this,” Aziraphale offered instead. “Why don’t you lay down, on your stomach like before, and let your wings out. You ruffled them something awful during all that fuss, so let me smooth them out for you. Maybe that will help relax you back to sleep, hm?”

It took some time before Crowley answered. “My wings?” he repeated.

“Yes, my dear, your wings. They’re so lovely, I’d love the chance to see them properly again.”

With a deep breath, Crowley lifted himself. But he didn’t immediately leave Aziraphale. Instead, he looked down into the angel’s face for a moment. Then he apparently reached some kind of conclusion[6], so he leaned down to kiss him, before finally rolling off and moving back over to his side of the bed. He clutched his pillow with both arms, laid out on his stomach again, and slowly let his wings unfurl.

Aziraphale sat up and moved to sit at Crowley’s hip. Indeed, the black feathers were untidy, sticking in different directions, a few bent, a few twisted. So he set about fixing them, one at a time, carefully, gently, patiently. Crowley gave a satisfied sigh, and closed his eyes.

“If I may ask,” Aziraphale said after a few minutes of silence; he knew Crowley hadn’t yet fallen asleep, “how often do you get nightmares?”

Crowley shifted a little. “Once a month,” he guessed. “Sometimes less. Not often. Don’t like ‘em,” he continued. Aziraphale saw his eyes open again, but they were staring across the room. “When I’m by myself, I’ve woken up on the ceiling, or in the living room. Disorienting, being someplace unexpected, human vessel starting to fall apart. Takes a minute or two to pull it back together.” He paused, but Aziraphale just went on smoothing feathers. “Glad you were here,” Crowley added. His cheeks darkened. “Wish you didn’t have to see me like that, but. Glad you woke me up.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself. “Well. One of the benefits of living together, I think,” he pointed out. “I’ll be ready next time, my dear. Next time, you won’t have to face the nightmare alone.”

“You’ll be here,” Crowley said, a question without the question mark. His eyes flicked back over his shoulder, and met Aziraphale’s sky blue over his wing.

“I’ll be here,” Aziraphale confirmed with a reassuring smile.

\--

[1] - To be exact, “new” meant about five months. It had taken a month after Not-Quite-Armageddon before something clicked and they came together properly. A story for another time, though. [return]

[2] - Old habits die hard, after all. There really was no need for excuses like this, but Aziraphale had always been a little resistant to change. [return]

[3] - This is when Aziraphale realized that Crowley leaving his things around had not, in fact, been intentional. [return]

[4] - Crowley wouldn’t break the lease for the apartment. “Never know,” he told Aziraphale with a shrug. It would indeed serve its purpose, in time. [return]

[5] - The resolution was also helped along by Crowley pointing out that, even if Aziraphale didn’t plan on sleeping, he could read in bed while Crowley did. Aziraphale agreed somewhat nonchalantly. Though they weren’t to know it, they had both conjured up the exact same image: Crowley, deep in sleep, arms and legs wrapped around Aziraphale as he tried to read, more than a little distracted by the auburn hair on his cheek and quiet snoring against his neck. [return]

[6] - The conclusion, for inquiring minds, was this: “ _If I could see this face every day for the rest of Time - and beyond - it still wouldn’t be long enough._ ” [return]

**Author's Note:**

> [join me on tumblr](http://effable-ineffability.tumblr.com/) as i obsess over these two buffoons (and good omens in general)
> 
> this was written as my 500-follower special (and recorded as my 1000-follower special!); i got three (sfw) prompts submitted, so i combined them all into this~  
> thanks for all your support thus far! it's meant the world to me <3 <3 <3
> 
> comments are better than any drug  
> (plus i reply to every single one)


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